


Coming Home

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Family, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, and some lorenzo/francesco romance peppered in of course, dare i say: found family, francesco gets queer eye-d by the entire medici family, overcoming trauma and learning to accept love and all that good shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: Following Jacopo's death, sixteen-year-old Francesco is put under the care of his parents' backup choice of guardian: Lucrezia Tornabuoni. But he's just staying there, temporarily. It's not like he's going to become a part of the Medici family or anything.
Relationships: Francesco de' Pazzi & Bianca di Piero de' Medici, Francesco de' Pazzi & Giuliano de' Medici, Francesco de' Pazzi & Lucrezia Tornabuoni, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the One Thousand fics with this general premise I've read about Isaac from Teen Wolf bc Francesco deserves to get adopted by a good family too, dammit
> 
> Idk if the legal workings even make sense, I know very little about how wills and guardianship work even in the US where I live, let alone in Italy, but my general idea was that Francesco's parents put Jacopo first as guardian in their wills and the Medici second, and Jacopo failed to name any guardian in his own will so when he died, Francesco defaulted to the Medici's care as per his parents' wills (Guglielmo is already over 18 as will become clear in the first few paragraphs)
> 
> Hopefully Francesco's emotional journey here feels natural and not too rushed, I could've easily stretched this into a 50k epic if I'd had the patience haha but instead I decided to keep it shorter and more focused. At the end of the day I did want this to be heartwarming fluff and not dwell too much on the angst, so with any luck this will be a sweet read!

The first night was painfully uncomfortable. All through dinner, Francesco could feel the entire Medici family watching him like he was a bomb about to go off. He tried to convince himself he found their wariness amusing so he wouldn’t dwell on how much it hurt.

After all, wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? To be feared? To intimidate everyone so they’d leave him alone?

The thing was, being alone sucked no matter how aggressively he pretended it was what he wanted.

He wished his brother was here to take some of the attention off him. But Guglielmo was down in Rome at university, and when Francesco had begged to come live with him instead of the Medici, Guglielmo had apologetically said that he thought it was for the best that Francesco at least finish out the school year in Florence so as not to disrupt his education. Francesco had argued that they were only a month into the school year and that his education would be disrupted even worse by his having to go live with his mortal enemies, but Guglielmo hadn’t been swayed.

“I’d be a terrible guardian for you anyway,” he’d said. “I’ve only been living on my own a few months and I still don’t know what I’m doing, plus my apartment’s already full with roommates. And I’m so busy with schoolwork that I barely have time to take care of myself, let alone you.”

“I can sleep on the couch if there’s no beds left,” Francesco had said stubbornly. “And I’m sixteen. I don’t need taking care of.”

“Yes, you do. You haven’t been taken care of for years, Francesco, and if Lucrezia is willing to do so, you might as well let her. Once my lease is up next summer we can talk about getting a new apartment for the two of us, but until then, I think it’ll be good for you to have a proper home and family.”

As if the Medici could ever be his family or their home his home.

“You’re not eating much, Francesco,” Lucrezia observed now as he moodily pushed the food around his plate. “Do you not like lasagna? I can make you something else if you’d prefer.”

Lasagna was Francesco’s favorite meal, actually, but something about sitting here surrounded by Medici was making him lose his appetite. “It’s fine, I’m not hungry,” he muttered.

This was all his parents’ fault. Why couldn’t they have appointed someone else, _anyone_ else, as their sons’ backup-backup guardian in the event of both parents and Jacopo all dying before the boys were eighteen? Then Francesco wouldn’t be here right now.

(Or maybe the thing he really resented them for was not choosing Lucrezia and Piero over Jacopo in the first place. For listing the Medici as second choice of guardian in their wills instead of first.)

Lucrezia and Bianca, who was attending university in Florence and thus still living at home, spent the rest of the meal trying in vain to engage Francesco in meaningless chitchat he had no patience for. Giuliano was glowering at him, clearly almost as mad about his being here as Francesco was. Lorenzo’s expression was unreadable and he barely said a word the whole time, which was highly unlike him. They were in the same class at school, and with the rest of their classmates (and teachers) Lorenzo usually never shut up. Apparently Francesco made him uncomfortable; it was a special talent of his.

Francesco put up with it all for as long as he possibly could before finally saying, “May I be excused? I have homework.”

Lucrezia glanced at his still mostly-full plate and pursed her lips, and at first Francesco thought she was insulted that he hadn’t eaten her cooking, but then he realized that her expression was more one of concern. Like she was… _worried_ about him. But that was impossible. He was a Pazzi, a Pazzi who’d beaten Giuliano up after school only a few short months ago, no less. And sure, Lucrezia’s sympathies extended far enough not to abandon the pathetic orphaned teenager who’d been legally assigned to her guardianship, but Francesco would be fooling himself if he ever made the mistake of thinking that she, or any of her children, actually _cared_ about him.

“Well, all right,” Lucrezia said. She nodded at his plate. “You should put that in the fridge in case you get hungry later. Or you can feel free to rummage around the kitchen and help yourself to anything else you want.”

Francesco nodded and got up to clear his plate without a word; he may have resented this whole situation, but he was very obedient with his chores out of habit because laziness and sloppiness hadn’t been tolerated by Jacopo. He neatly packed the remainder of his lasagna in a little tupperware, which he marked with his name and put in the fridge, then thoroughly washed his plate and glass. He had to look through a dozen cabinets and cupboards and drawers to find the right place for them, but once they were put away, he left the kitchen and slunk upstairs to the guest bedroom he was staying in.

He refused to think that he was living in it or that it was his room. He was just staying there. Temporarily.

Francesco spent the rest of the evening finishing up his homework, though in truth there wasn’t much left because he’d never been a procrastinator and not even the upheavals of the past week had deterred him from keeping on top of his work. Once he was done he started browsing mindlessly around the internet, the sounds of the Medici talking and laughing together downstairs floating up to him.

For a moment, Francesco ached to go down and join them. For a moment, he felt so, so lonely. But only for a moment, and then he squashed it down. He didn’t belong down there with them, and he’d always preferred keeping to himself anyway. Safer that way.

* * *

He was running through the cold, echoey halls of Palazzo Pazzi, panic clogging his throat as his legs grew slower and slower, like he was trying to move through quicksand. He could hear Jacopo’s familiar footsteps loud behind him, his voice shouting indistinct insults about whatever it was Francesco had done wrong this time, and Francesco gave up running and instead curled up in a ball on the floor as a last defense against the blows that were about to come—

“Francesco? Wake up, Francesco, it’s just a dream.”

Francesco jolted awake, a fresh bolt of panic shooting through him as he registered his unfamiliar surroundings and the hand on his shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” he gasped, jerking away from the hand.

Which immediately withdrew. “I’m sorry.” That was Lucrezia’s voice, he realized, and he remembered where he was and why.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I heard you crying in your sleep.”

Francesco could feel tears wet on his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, humiliated. He pulled his tangled blankets back over himself and burrowed underneath so she would stop looking at him.

“Are you sure?” Lucrezia said. “Do you want me to bring you some water? Or I could—”

“I said I’m _fine,”_ Francesco snapped. “Leave me alone.”

There was a pause. “All right,” Lucrezia said finally. “But I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

He heard her footsteps and the door shutting, and then all was quiet. Even so, Francesco didn’t manage to get back to sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

So he was especially tired and irritable at breakfast the next morning, and it wasn’t helped by Giuliano’s mocking. “I hope everyone slept well,” he was saying as Francesco nibbled on cereal. “I sure as hell didn’t, seeing as I was woken up by Francesco sobbing in the middle of the night.”

Francesco tensed, fresh shame and anger burning in his stomach. “Giuliano,” Lucrezia said, warning clear in her tone.

But Giuliano mercilessly continued. “Sounded like you were having a nightmare about someone attacking you,” he said. “Maybe it was your conscience showing you how it feels to be all the people you beat up at school.”

Francesco was gripping his spoon tightly. “Shut up.”

“Giuliano, leave him alone,” Lucrezia said more sharply. Lorenzo and Bianca were silent and uncomfortable-looking.

“I have to say, it was pretty satisfying hearing _you_ get bullied for a change,” Giuliano said. He put on a cruel imitation of Francesco’s voice. _“Don’t hurt me, please, I didn’t do it_ —”

Francesco lunged at him, knocking them both out of their chairs and to the floor. “Shut _up!”_ he yelled. He only managed to get one good punch in, a direct hit to Giuliano’s jaw, before Lorenzo was pulling him off, and while Lorenzo had the temperament of a lamb, he did also have the brute strength of an ox, whereas Francesco was skinny and smaller than him and couldn’t get free of his hold.

Giuliano sat up, scowling at Francesco and rubbing his jaw. “I don’t know why you insisted on keeping him, Mom,” he said. “Can’t we send him to an orphanage or whatever?”

“Absolutely not, and you _were_ asking for that,” Lucrezia told him sternly. But before Francesco could feel too vindicated, she turned her disapproving gaze on him. “But while I won’t tolerate verbal cruelty in my house, I also won’t tolerate physical violence. If you ever lay a hand on any of my children again, you’re going straight to Guglielmo in Rome. Is that clear?”

Lorenzo’s grip had loosened, and Francesco’s inner imp of the perverse wanted to go right for Giuliano to punch him again so that Lucrezia _would_ send him to Rome. But then he would be a burden to Guglielmo, who’d never been academically-minded and was no doubt struggling with his first university semester even more than he let on to Francesco. Not to mention that hearing he’d picked a fight and squandered the Medici’s generosity (condescending pity, if you asked Francesco) would disappoint Guglielmo, and Guglielmo’s disappointment would sting even more than the way Lucrezia was looking at him right now.

So he gave a short nod and shook Lorenzo off, then left the room to grab his bag and head to school forty minutes early because he couldn’t stand being in that house for another second.

But to his annoyance, Lorenzo arrived at school fifteen minutes early and found Francesco sitting in the courtyard messing around on his phone. “Hey,” he said, coming to sit beside him.

“Leave me alone,” Francesco said without looking up at him.

“I will in a second,” Lorenzo said. “But I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Giuliano. He was being such a dick. I don’t see how he could’ve possibly found it funny last night, I mean, you sounded really scared…”

Now Francesco did look up at him, ugly embarrassment once more rearing its head. “So you heard me too,” he said flatly.

Lorenzo also looked embarrassed. “Uh, yeah. But it’s not your fault, you were asleep, you couldn’t control it,” he hastened to soothe him. “Everyone has nightmares sometimes, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Francesco snorted and turned away a little, looking back at his phone. “Just fuck off, would you?”

Lorenzo hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but then he sighed and silently got up and walked over to the opposite side of the courtyard to wait alone for school to start.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Lorenzo showed Francesco as much kindness as Francesco would allow him to—which was barely any. Every time Lorenzo tried to chat with him, even about the most mundane and harmless topics, Francesco would either snap at him to go away or just ignore him altogether.

The rest of the family wasn’t having much luck either. Well, not that Giuliano was trying, but Lucrezia’s and Bianca’s efforts at friendliness were always rebuffed too (more politely than Lorenzo’s were, but firmly nevertheless).

Lorenzo couldn’t understand it. Obviously Francesco hadn’t _wanted_ to end up in this situation, but why wasn’t he trying to make the best of it and get along with them? And why wasn’t he glad his uncle was gone when Lorenzo had a sneaking suspicion that Jacopo was the reason Francesco cried in his sleep? Surely this living situation he’d been thrust into had to be better than the one he’d come from.

“Trauma works in mysterious ways, Lorenzo,” Lucrezia told him when he expressed his frustrations to her. “We have no idea what Francesco’s been through. Losing both parents so young, and who knows what life was like under Jacopo’s roof? He was a cruel, insufferable man even in my own brief interactions with him, so I can’t imagine how he might have treated Francesco.”

“Guglielmo’s been through the same things, and _he’s_ not like this,” Lorenzo pointed out.

“Because trauma works in mysterious ways. The same experiences can affect two people completely differently.”

“Since when are you a psychologist?”

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Lucrezia said. “And according to that reading, the best thing we can do for Francesco right now is be patient with him.”

“He’s not making it easy,” muttered Lorenzo, who was still bitter about a particularly nasty string of insults Francesco had hurled at him earlier when Lorenzo had invited him to play videogames with him.

“I know,” Lucrezia said wryly. “But think of him like a frightened, injured animal. He’s hurting and needs help, but when people approach, he tries to scare them off because he’s afraid they’ll hurt him more. That doesn’t mean we should stop trying. Eventually he’ll come to see we don’t mean him any harm, and he’ll let us in.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Lorenzo asked.

Lucrezia had no answer for that.

* * *

A few evenings later, Lorenzo was coming out of the shower when he heard Francesco talking in a hushed tone in his room. Lorenzo paused by the door, knowing he shouldn’t eavesdrop but too curious to help it. This was the most he’d heard Francesco speak since he’d arrived.

“Can I please, _please_ come live with you?” he was saying, and Lorenzo figured he must be talking to Guglielmo. “It’s awful here. Giuliano’s horrible to me every time we’re in the same room, and Bianca’s only nice to me for your sake and Lucrezia because she feels an obligation to our parents. None of them actually wants me here. They all hate me.”

 _What about me?_ Lorenzo wanted to ask. Guglielmo might have asked something similar, because Francesco said, “Fine, yeah, he’s also nice, I guess. Super overbearing and annoying. But it’s just because he’s too nice a person to be rude to my face, I know inside he hates me too.”

How could Francesco think that? He’d been Lorenzo’s very best friend in the whole world once, and Lorenzo had spent eight years missing him so much it was like a piece of his heart had been torn out. And yet, Francesco thought he hated him?

There was a pause as Guglielmo said something. _“Please,_ Gu,” Francesco whispered, sounding so small and broken it made a lump form in Lorenzo’s throat. Then Francesco sighed. “Fine. I’ll give it one more month. And then you’ll let me come?” Pause. “Okay. Love you too. Bye.”

Afraid Francesco was about to leave his room, Lorenzo darted back into the bathroom as quickly and soundlessly as possible. He waited a minute or two, then loudly opened the bathroom door so that Francesco would think he’d been in the shower for his whole phonecall.

When he stepped out into the hallway, Francesco was standing there outside his own door. “Oh, hey,” Lorenzo said, trying to sound casual.

Francesco didn’t bother answering, as usual, but after a second Lorenzo realized that he was staring at him, decidedly _not_ at his face, and he remembered he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Feeling weirdly flustered and self-conscious, Lorenzo fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest and instead coughed a little, which made Francesco start and look away, his cheeks turning pink.

Lorenzo gave him an awkward smile and continued on his way to his room, wondering why his heart was beating so fast.

* * *

That night, Francesco was on his laptop when someone knocked on his door. He considered pretending to be asleep, but after a moment he grudgingly said, “What?”

The door opened to reveal Lorenzo, who was the last person Francesco wanted to see at the moment because all he could think about was him coming out of the shower half-naked with wet hair and stray drops of water glistening on his skin. Francesco carefully kept his eyes on his laptop, feeling his face heating up and betraying him.

“What do you want?” he said. His tone didn’t come out as cold as he’d hoped.

Lorenzo stepped into his room uninvited and shut the door behind him. “I just wanted to talk,” he said.

Great. Francesco _knew_ he’d caught him checking him out (completely unintentionally on Francesco’s part, okay, he hadn’t even realized he was staring until Lorenzo had coughed), and now he was going to give Francesco a talk about his being a pervert. Francesco just said “hm” and still didn’t look at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lorenzo taking a seat on the end of his bed. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “You know we all care about you, right?”

Startled, Francesco finally looked up at him. “What?” he said.

“Me and my family. We care about you and we want you here,” Lorenzo said. “I know the past few weeks have been hard for you, and I know you might feel like you don’t belong here, but you do.”

Francesco snorted. “If you really expect me to believe that _Giuliano_ cares about me and wants me here—”

“Well, okay, maybe Giuliano needs some more time to warm up to you,” Lorenzo admitted. “The rest of us, though. When we were little, my mom always saw you and Guglielmo as practically her own kids, and I know she’s been worried about you both and missing you for all these years. She accepted her guardianship of you because she wanted to take care of you, not because she felt obligated to. And Bianca sees you as another little brother, especially now that she and Guglielmo are dating. But it’s not _just_ because of Guglielmo, she cares about you for your own sake.”

Francesco stared at him. Where was all this coming from? Lorenzo exactly refuting everything he’d said to Guglielmo on the phone earlier…if he hadn’t seen him just coming out of the shower, Francesco would’ve thought he’d overheard him. Maybe someone else had overheard and delegated Lorenzo to talk to him about it.

Francesco should have sent him away without listening, without letting his pretty words have the power to sway him, but instead he asked, “And you?”

Lorenzo gave him a soft smile. He scooched to sit closer to Francesco and picked up his laptop and moved it off his lap, then took his hands, and Francesco was too surprised to pull them out of his grasp. “I’ve worried about and missed and loved you more than anyone else,” Lorenzo said. “You were my best friend, Francesco. More than that. You were like my other half. And I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

 _Home._ Francesco stared down at their entwined hands, feeling tears sting his eyes. This was obviously some sort of ploy; Lorenzo was trying to butter him up, lull him into a false sense of security. But…Francesco _wanted_ to believe him. Wasn’t that always the dangerous thing about Lorenzo, though? How much Francesco wanted to believe him even when he knew he shouldn’t.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he said.

“I swear on…” Lorenzo paused for a minute. Francesco glanced up to see his brow furrowed thoughtfully, and then he smiled as an idea apparently occurred to him. “I swear on Signor Elefante,” he said.

A little laugh escaped Francesco before he could stop it. Signor Elefante was his favorite toy when he was about five, a creatively-named stuffed elephant who was always the most distinguished guest at his and Lorenzo’s tea parties, and alternately, the baby when they played house. (Francesco and Lorenzo would always argue over who got to be Papa and who had to be Mamma, until Francesco’s mother had overheard one day and given them the revolutionary idea that a family could have two papas, and oh, wow, this memory was doing things to Francesco all of a sudden.)

Signor Elefante had only lasted a few days at Jacopo’s house until Jacopo had found him and thrown him out, scoffing that Francesco was too old for toys. Francesco, eight years old and missing his parents and home so much it hurt and needing that one small piece of comfort to snuggle with at night, had bawled his eyes out, and Jacopo had slapped him and told him he wouldn’t put up with tantrums.

“I can’t believe you still remember that,” Francesco said now.

“I remember everything from when we were kids because those memories were all I had of you for so long,” Lorenzo said. “But now I really hope we can start making some new ones.”

He looked so hopeful, and Francesco so badly wanted to say yes too. And yet, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to trust Lorenzo, to believe that he and Lucrezia and Bianca really did care about him. It was too good to be true, and if he let himself believe that he had a little bit of happiness, that would only make it hurt more when it was inevitably taken away.

So Francesco just shrugged, extracting his hands from Lorenzo’s and picking his laptop back up, signaling the end of the conversation. But when he glanced back over at Lorenzo, he saw that he was smiling, like this noncommittal response was much better than the outright rejection he’d expected.

* * *

A few weeks later, Lucrezia was observing Francesco out of the corner of her eye as he helped her make dinner. All four teenagers had an assigned day to help with dinner every week, and unlike her children, Francesco never complained about it. He never complained about any of his chores, actually; Jacopo had clearly whipped him into shape on that front. Literally, Lucrezia often feared, judging by the way Francesco would flinch sometimes when someone raised their voice or made a sudden movement.

Francesco seemed very slightly more at ease these days, but he still had nightmares frequently. For the ones she heard, Lucrezia would always go to check on him, and he’d always send her away again. But he was starting to do so a little less harshly.

Still, it made her heart ache to see the angry, skittish, lost boy in front of her and to remember what a sweet and rosy child he’d once been. Lucrezia had been furious when he’d beaten Giuliano up months ago, yes, but now she was able to see what Giuliano was too young and stubborn to: that Francesco was still a child himself, that he was a reflection of the environment he’d been raised in, and that it wasn’t too late to set him on the right path. That it was up to her to help him find that path.

All Lucrezia wanted was to take him into her arms and hug him tight and tell him he was safe now and she would never let anyone hurt him again. But she knew it wasn’t that simple; Francesco didn’t trust her yet, he still didn’t accept touches or kind words from her. She would have to be patient, like she’d told Lorenzo, and put in the work on the long journey of helping Francesco heal from all the damage Jacopo had done. And maybe persuade him to see a therapist.

Her musings were interrupted by a crash. She turned to see Francesco standing in front of the open cupboard where he’d been getting dishes out to set the table and looking down at a shattered wineglass on the floor. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, crouching down and reaching to pick up the pieces. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, Francesco, you’ll cut yourself,” Lucrezia scolded as she hurried over. “I’ll sweep it up, just move away without stepping on anything.”

But Francesco wasn’t listening, determinedly gathering up pieces of glass even as his hands shook, even as they got cut and started to bleed. “I’m sorry, oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it slipped from my hand, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Francesco.” Lucrezia crouched down beside him and reached out to touch his shoulder. It wasn’t just his hands, but his entire body that was shaking. The touch finally made him look up at her, and her heart shattered into far more pieces than the wineglass had when she saw the fear and tears shining in his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself hoping Jacopo was currently burning in hell, and it would be far from the last.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s just a glass,” she said gently. “We have plenty of others, I won’t miss this one at all.”

“You’re not mad?” Francesco whispered, like he hardly dared believe it.

“Not even a little,” Lucrezia promised him. “Accidents happen. It’s not your fault. And my kitchenware means far less to me than you do, all right?”

Francesco swallowed thickly, sniffling slightly. “Okay.”

“Now, come here, your hands are all cut.”

Lucrezia ushered him carefully away from the broken glass and into the bathroom, where she gently washed the cuts on his hands before bandaging them. “There,” she said.

“Thanks,” Francesco said, and he tried to remove his hands from hers, but she kept holding onto them. After a moment, he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet hers.

“No one in this house will ever hurt you for any reason, Francesco,” Lucrezia said, gentle but firm.

“Giuliano would kill me in a heartbeat,” Francesco said.

Lucrezia chuckled. “No, he wouldn’t, because he would have me to answer to,” she said, pleased when that made the warmth of a smile come into Francesco’s eyes, although his mouth didn’t move. “My point is, this is your home now, and you don’t ever have to worry about being harmed inside it. Ever. Because that’s what a home is supposed to be. A safe place. And you are safe here, I promise you.”

Francesco nodded but stayed silent. He was being unusually receptive to her concern, so Lucrezia decided to press her luck a little farther. “I was also thinking that it might benefit you to see a therapist,” she said.

Francesco frowned. “A therapist?” he said. “I don’t need to pay someone to tell me I’m fu—uh, messed up, I already know that.”

“You’re not messed up,” Lucrezia said, squeezing his hands. “You’re a sixteen-year-old who’s experienced so much loss and trauma, and a therapist could help you work through that. The point of therapy isn’t to fix you, because you’re not broken. The point is to help you feel better. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

Francesco was quiet for a long time, but then at last he said, “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Lucrezia smiled. “Good. Now, I’ll take care of the glass,” she said, letting go of his hands. “I think the others are still upstairs, why don’t you go tell them dinner’s ready?”

Francesco nodded and left, and Lucrezia returned to the kitchen to sweep up the broken glass, relieved that Francesco was finally showing signs of willingness to accept help from others. That was the first step in the healing process. If only it was as quick and neat as sweeping up these glass fragments and tossing them in the trash.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Bianca went into Francesco’s room. “Let’s go shopping,” she said.

Francesco stared at her like she’d grown another head. “What?” he said.

“I want to go shopping today, and Guglielmo says you like clothes, so I thought I’d invite you,” she said. “So? Are you busy?”

“No,” Francesco said. “But why do you want me to come?”

In truth, Guglielmo had told her that Francesco was miserable at their house and had asked her to do something to make him feel more welcome, but Bianca had a feeling Francesco would be pissed if she told him that. Besides, she hadn’t needed Guglielmo to tell her; she’d seen for herself how unhappy Francesco was and had been wanting to bond with him somehow, but it wasn’t until the other day that she’d had an idea for how.

“I like having a second opinion when I’m shopping for clothes,” she said. “But Guglielmo and my mom just tell me I look good in everything, and Giuliano drags his feet and complains the whole time, and Lorenzo gets distracted flirting with everyone in the store. Plus, I know your uncle was pretty strict about the way you guys dressed, so I thought you might like coming with me to pick out some new things that fit your own style.”

To her delight, Francesco actually looked like he was considering it. “I wanted to get all my homework done today,” he said.

“We won’t be more than a couple hours,” Bianca promised him. “Come on. Please?”

She leveled him with her best puppydog eyes; they always worked on Guglielmo. And apparently Francesco wasn’t immune either, because he sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

Thrilled, Bianca clapped her hands together. “Yes! We’re going to have so much fun!”

Within half an hour, they’d arrived at Bianca’s favorite clothing store. They went to the women’s section first, and it turned out that Bianca’s hunch had been correct and Francesco was the perfect person to take as an advice-giver. He had a critical eye and wasn’t shy about telling her if something didn’t suit her, but he always phrased it as a flaw in the clothing item (too baggy, weird sleeves) rather than a flaw in her. And he actually had very good taste despite claiming to know nothing about women’s fashion.

Once Bianca was satisfied with her selections (two dresses, four blouses, and a pair of jeans), she escorted Francesco to the men’s section. This was more of a challenge because Francesco seemed self-conscious about picking things out for himself, so eventually Bianca told him to browse by himself and text her to come back when he wanted her input.

She went to a different part of the store to give him space and was pleasantly surprised when he actually did text her twenty minutes later. Bianca found him in the dressing room, where he tried on various things for her. They were all simple things like jeans and plain tops that couldn’t be unflattering on anyone, so Bianca told him to get them all.

“There was one more thing,” Francesco said. “It’s stupid, though, I’d never actually wear it.”

“Ooh, let me see,” Bianca said, intrigued.

Francesco went back into the dressing room and came out holding a leather jacket. “Oh my God!” Bianca said. “Put it on right now!”

Looking embarrassed, Francesco obediently did so. It was exactly the right size and fit and it suited him perfectly. “That looks amazing on you!” Bianca exclaimed. “I’m loving the edgy aesthetic. I’ll kill you if you don’t buy it.”

“It’s too over-the-top,” Francesco protested. “What would I ever wear it for?”

“Anything! To school, hanging out with friends, on a date.” Francesco scoffed and rolled his eyes, blushing. “That would look great for any occasion,” Bianca concluded. “You picked it out, so you must like it, right? Why not get it?”

“Well…it _is_ cool,” Francesco admitted. “But I don’t know if it works for me.”

“Let me let you in on a little secret about clothes,” Bianca said. “If you like something, then it works for you. Simple as that. Get the jacket.”

Francesco glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and a small smile crossed his face. “Oh, fine, if you’re going to make such a scene about it,” he said, and Bianca beamed at him.

They went to a few other clothing stores before Bianca had to stop at the pharmacy for some toiletries she was low on. “You should get some stuff too,” she said to Francesco. “What’s your self-care routine like?”

Francesco looked baffled. “Self…care?”

Bianca was horrified. “Oh my God, you don’t even know what it is! I won’t stand for that.”

She loaded him up with some creams and moisturizers he insisted he would never use. Then Francesco picked out shampoo and conditioner of his own volition, because hair care was apparently the one thing he was on top of. “I’ve been using Lorenzo’s and Giuliano’s, but it’s awful,” he told Bianca, who snickered and agreed. And snuck some hair gel into his basket when he wasn’t looking. He’d thank her later.

Next Bianca went to grab some birth control. “Do you need condoms or anything?” she asked.

Francesco turned bright red. “What? No! Gross!”

“Don’t be five,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re being safe. I keep some condoms in the bathroom if you ever need them, or you can ask Lorenzo, I’m sure he has some. And you can always come to me if you have questions or need advice or anything like that.”

“Oh my God, _stop,_ you’re worse than Guglielmo,” Francesco complained.

“Just doing my older sister duties,” Bianca said as she dragged him into the makeup aisle.

As she was consulting her shopping list and grabbing what she needed, she noticed Francesco looking longingly at some eyeliner. “You should get some,” she said, nodding at it.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” he spluttered. “I can’t wear _eyeliner.”_

“Why not? It’s like I said before. If you like something, then it works for you.”

“Guys can’t wear makeup.”

“Is that you talking, or is that your uncle talking?” Bianca said perceptively. “Makeup looks great on anyone regardless of gender.” She pulled a stick off the shelf and held it out to him. “Here, this is my favorite brand, it’s great quality. I’ll show you how to use it when we get home.”

Francesco looked at it, biting his lip. “Jacopo’s not around to control you anymore, Francesco,” Bianca said. “You can dress however you like. And if you want to wear eyeliner and leather jackets and hair gel, then by God, you should wear those things.”

“Hair gel?” Francesco narrowed his eyes, then looked down in his basket, where he quickly discovered the hair gel and held it up to her, raising an eyebrow.

Bianca grinned. “Whoops.”

Francesco shook his head, but he was smiling a little. “Fine,” he said. “If you want to give me a whole makeover like I’m the little sister you never had, then fine. I’ve long since learned there’s no point arguing with any of you Medici.”

“Damn right there isn’t,” Bianca said cheerfully, and she dropped the eyeliner in Francesco’s basket and shepherded him to the checkout.

Once they got home, Bianca brought him into her room to teach him a self-care routine and how to apply eyeliner. Francesco was smiling and at ease with her the whole time, she noticed happily. The outing had done its job.

Despite Bianca’s promises to only take up a couple hours of Francesco’s day, it was dinnertime by the time she finally let him go. “I’ve taught you all I know,” she said with solemn pride. “Now, put on all your new stuff for dinner to show everyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Francesco said, waving a dismissive hand as he went back to his own room.

But when he came down for dinner, he was indeed still wearing the eyeliner he’d put on under Bianca’s tutelage, and he’d also put on the leather jacket and some hair gel. He’d been a little too heavy-handed with it, but that was fine, he’d learn.

“What the hell?” Giuliano said. “Your boyband called, they lost their edgelord.”

“Shut up,” Bianca said. “You look _incredible,_ Francesco! Aren’t you glad I talked you into buying that stuff?”

Francesco tugged self-consciously at the sleeves of his jacket, but there was a small smile on his face. “I guess,” he said.

Just then Lorenzo came down the stairs. “Lorenzo, come see Francesco’s new look,” Bianca said, waving him over.

Lorenzo obediently came in and turned to look at Francesco. His mouth fell open slightly. “Oh. Um. That’s. Wow,” he stammered, more tongue-tied than Bianca had ever seen him. “Uh. You’re. Wow.”

“Look at that,” Bianca said, smirking. “You look so good, you broke Lorenzo.”

* * *

Lorenzo was having a crisis. As November turned into December, he couldn’t escape the fact that Francesco was _hot._ He’d sort of been noticing it at school for the past few years as Francesco’s round, babyish face had grown up into sharp angles and jutting cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes, but now that he’d abandoned the formal, uptight clothes he’d brought from Jacopo’s house and was starting to dress in a manner that was clearly more comfortable for him, it was bringing out his natural beauty even more.

And the eyeliner. Oh God, the fucking _eyeliner._ Lorenzo didn’t know whether to thank or kill Bianca for that. He’d always been a fan of that kind of edgier, goth-y aesthetic for girls (case in point: Lucrezia Donati, his first girlfriend), and apparently that was also his exact type for guys too. Or maybe it was just Francesco who was his exact type.

But the crisis wasn’t just thinking Francesco was hot. It was the way Lorenzo was obsessed with trying to make him smile, it was the squirmy feeling he got in his stomach every time Francesco gave him non-hostile attention (and honestly, even when he gave him hostile attention). When Francesco had first come to live with them, Lorenzo had easily dismissed these feelings as a platonic desire for him to feel safe and happy, but now, he had to admit it was a crush.

Bianca and Giuliano were teasing him mercilessly about it whenever Francesco wasn’t in earshot, and even Lucrezia had had a knowing smile on her face on more than one occasion when Francesco had caused Lorenzo to get flustered and lose the power of speech. But Francesco himself seemed unaware, luckily; he was just starting to settle in and become comfortable with them, the last thing Lorenzo wanted was to freak him out with his stupid crush.

He was lying in bed one night, dwelling on all of this as he tossed and turned, trying in vain to quiet his thoughts enough to drift off. So he heard it clearly when sobs started coming from Francesco’s room on the other side of the wall. Not like his nightmare crying, though; this was quiet, almost inaudible, like Francesco was awake and purposely trying to keep it down so no one would hear him.

And no one would have, probably, if Lorenzo hadn’t already been awake.

He chewed his lip, debating. He didn’t want to intrude on Francesco, but the thought of him curled up in bed all alone, muffling his sobs so his sadness wouldn’t bother anyone…it broke Lorenzo’s heart.

He got out of bed and tiptoed next door.

Lorenzo knocked softly on the door, wanting neither to startle Francesco by bursting in with no warning nor to wake anyone else by calling to him from the hallway. The sobs cut off suddenly, and Lorenzo waited a few moments of dead silence before gently pushing the door open. He stepped inside and shut it quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he whispered in the darkness. He could make out Francesco’s shape huddled under the blankets. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Francesco whispered back.

Lorenzo moved closer to the bed. “I heard you crying,” he said. “Another nightmare?”

There was a pause, and Lorenzo didn’t think Francesco was going to answer. But then he said, “No. A good dream.” He sniffled a little. “My parents were there, we were all together. But then I woke up and…”

“Oh,” Lorenzo said, his heart aching. He’d had dreams like that before, dreams where his father was still alive, and they hurt, but at least when he woke up he was in his own childhood home with the rest of his family still there with him. Not so for Francesco. Pretty much every bit of happiness or familiarity from his childhood was gone now, or far away like Guglielmo.

And yet, Palazzo Medici and Lorenzo himself had been familiar to Francesco as a child, they made up some of his happy memories too.

Lorenzo took a chance and perched on the edge of the bed next to him, and Francesco didn’t protest. He finally turned his head to look up at Lorenzo and meet his eyes. Through the darkness, Lorenzo could just barely make out a small tear track shining on his cheek. On impulse, he reached out and stroked Francesco’s hair.

Francesco stilled. Shit, Lorenzo had gone way too far, he was getting into creepy territory now. But when Francesco spoke, he didn’t sound mad, just confused. “What are you doing?”

His hair was so soft. “Trying to make sure you know you’re not alone,” Lorenzo said.

Francesco didn’t say anything, but he closed his eyes and leaned into Lorenzo’s hand a little, like he enjoyed the touch. “Can I stay with you?” Lorenzo asked.

Francesco opened his eyes. “What? Why?”

Lorenzo himself honestly wasn’t sure why, all he knew was that he was suddenly longing to curl up in bed with Francesco and hold him close and keep him safe. It wasn’t just the shallow desire to be close to his crush, it was something deeper, more protective than that.

“Well, I can’t sleep either,” he tried as justification. “So maybe it would help us both sleep if we were together.”

“I don’t really follow that logic,” Francesco said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in something that was almost, almost a smile.

Lorenzo laughed and gently nudged him. “Come on, move over,” he said. “You have this giant bed all to yourself, you might as well share it.”

To his delight, Francesco obligingly did move over to make space for him. “You still have a twin bed in your room?” he said as Lorenzo pulled back the covers and climbed in next to him. “I haven’t been in there since we were kids.”

Lorenzo _had_ noticed that since coming to live with them, Francesco had never ventured into Lorenzo’s room. Or maybe it was Lorenzo who’d never invited him in. “I do,” he said. “I thought about getting a double bed, but there would be no room for it with all my bookcases, and I don’t want to move into a bigger room because I like the view out my window.”

“And obviously you can’t cut down on the number of bookcases in there.”

“Obviously not,” Lorenzo said, smiling wider at Francesco’s willingness to banter with him. Francesco’s smile had widened too—still just a small curve of his lips, but proper smiles from him were so rare that Lorenzo cherished every single one, no matter how small.

Lorenzo pulled the blankets up over them and settled into a comfortable position. He wanted to hold Francesco but didn’t want to push this too far—so when Francesco shifted closer to him and rested his head on his chest of his own accord, Lorenzo was thrilled.

He tried to slow his heartbeat down and focus on Francesco as a friend who needed his comfort rather than as a crush who was snuggling with him in bed. Lorenzo put one arm around him. “Comfortable?” he asked, and he felt Francesco nod. “Good. Goodnight, Cesco.”

“Goodnight,” Francesco said.

Now Lorenzo’s thoughts were peacefully quiet, and it was only a few minutes before he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Francesco’s alarm for school woke him up out of the best night’s sleep he’d had in a very long time. Yawning, he blinked his eyes open and saw that Lorenzo was waking up too. They’d apparently stopped cuddling at some point in the night, but Lorenzo was still very close to him and it made Francesco’s heart flutter.

“Morning,” Lorenzo said through a yawn of his own. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” Francesco said. “You?”

“Like a baby,” Lorenzo said. “Told you it’d help us both sleep if we were together.”

Francesco smiled, and his heart fluttered again at the sleepy, pretty smile Lorenzo gave him in return. Okay. Either Francesco was having feelings or he was on the brink of a heart attack.

Lorenzo sat up and stretched, and Francesco couldn’t stop staring at the strip of skin that was briefly revealed as his T-shirt rode up before he let his arms fall again. “Having feelings” was definitely seeming like the more likely option.

Trying to shake himself out of it, Francesco got out of bed as Lorenzo opened the door to go back to his own room. Unfortunately, it was at that very moment that Bianca was leaving the bathroom _and_ Giuliano was entering it. “Oooooh my _God,”_ Giuliano said, looking like he was torn between horror and laughter. “You two banged last night?”

“What?! No!” Lorenzo said as Francesco turned bright red.

Bianca was laughing. “Francesco, you remember where I told you the condoms are, right?” she said.

“No! I mean, yes, I remember, but I didn’t—we didn’t—” Francesco spluttered. “We were just—” He couldn’t decide if _Lorenzo came to snuggle with me because I had a sad dream_ was more or less embarrassing than letting them think they’d had sex.

Lorenzo came to his rescue. “Nothing happened,” he said firmly. “Neither of us could sleep last night, so we were in Francesco’s room talking and then I ended up falling asleep there. That’s all.”

Lorenzo stepped fully out into the hall, so without further ado Francesco slammed the door on him and Bianca’s and Giuliano’s teasing.

His mind was whirling as he got dressed. Did he have feelings for Lorenzo? Over the past few years, Francesco _had_ started noticing an attraction to men, but he’d repressed it because he’d known Jacopo would kill him for it. Now, though…

Francesco sat down on his bed, gnawing on his lip. Lorenzo was the best-looking person in their year at school, guy or girl, that was simply an objective fact. But was Francesco actually _attracted_ to him? There _was_ the shower incident to contend with, and a few other times Francesco had been shaken by Lorenzo walking around the house shirtless. And his heart fluttering when Lorenzo smiled at him…if Francesco was being honest with himself, that wasn’t an entirely new thing.

He’d always craved Lorenzo’s attention. Even when he’d still hated him, or thought he had, he’d often gone out of his way to antagonize Lorenzo just to experience the feeling of those blue eyes on him for a few minutes. Francesco remembered when he’d first debuted his new outfit he’d bought with Bianca and he’d been anxious for Lorenzo’s opinion more than anyone else’s. He remembered how flustered and pleased he’d felt when it had made Lorenzo speechless.

But was this an actual crush, or was it just Francesco unhealthily latching onto someone who showed him a scrap of kindness? Well, if that was the case, he would’ve had a crush on Bianca too, but he didn’t. Maybe just because she was dating his brother.

Francesco sighed and stood up again to keep getting dressed. He had to get ready for school, he didn’t have time for this right now.

But when he arrived at the breakfast table, Lorenzo gave him a sheepish smile and it sent Francesco’s heart fluttering _again._ Maybe he _had_ been too quick to rule out impending heart attack.

“Lorenzo, Francesco,” Lucrezia said as Francesco took a seat and tried to ignore the butterflies throwing a rave in his stomach long enough to choke down some toast. “I hear you spent the night together.”

Okay, yep, Francesco wasn’t going to be able to eat anything this morning. “Oh my _God,_ Mom, _stop,”_ Lorenzo groaned as Giuliano and Bianca broke out into another round of snickers. “We didn’t, okay? It was a misunderstanding, don’t listen to whatever they told you.”

Lucrezia held up her hands. “I’m not trying to scold you or create problems,” she said. “I just want to make sure that you’re being safe and that you’re not taking advantage of Francesco.”

“I’m not _taking advantage_ of _Francesco,”_ Lorenzo said indignantly as Francesco blushed harder. “We just talked and then fell asleep! Jesus.”

Bianca mercifully changed the subject, and all was quickly forgotten. Maybe he _should_ take Lucrezia up on her suggestion of a therapist, Francesco thought as he took a brave nibble of toast. He had a hell of a lot of stuff to unpack at this point.

* * *

**1 Week Later**

Once he’d finished eating his lunch, Giuliano allowed himself to stay and chat for only a few minutes before checking the time and saying with a sigh, “I should get back, I’ve seriously got to study for the math test. My mom will kick my ass if I fail again.”

“Giuliano, studying? The week before Christmas break, no less?” Sandro said. “Is it the apocalypse?”

Giuliano gave him a shove and got to his feet, waving goodbye to his friends as he left the café and headed back to school.

It was usually quiet at lunchtime, as most people were out eating and the few who stayed behind were munching on their lunches alone while they did homework, but when Giuliano stepped into the courtyard, he was surprised to see a small knot of students there. Francesco was in the middle, he realized, his posture tense and his expression upset. He looked like he was about to either go nuclear or curl up into a ball like an armadillo.

Giuliano knew instantly what was going on: he’d seen that look on Francesco’s face countless times when _he_ was the one bullying him, and he recognized the looks on the others’ faces from all the times when Francesco was bullying him. And Giuliano wouldn’t stand for this. Only he was allowed to bully Francesco.

“Hey, assholes!” he yelled, charging over towards them. “Leave him alone!”

The bullies all turned towards him. Giuliano recognized the ringleader as a particular idiot in Lorenzo and Francesco’s class that Lorenzo was always complaining about. He scoffed at Giuliano. “Since when do you give a shit about Pazzi?”

“Since he’s been living in my house and stealing my clothes and eating my mother’s cooking, that’s since when,” Giuliano said, and he punched him right in the face.

That seemed to tip Francesco’s scale towards “go nuclear,” so he started punching people too and chaos quickly erupted. Giuliano hadn’t had a good fight in ages, and he was having a grand old time until a teacher came rushing out of the building to break it up and send them all to the headmaster’s office.

After hearing a conflicting version events from all of them yelling at once, the headmaster took each person into his office one by one to hear what they had to say for themselves, then sent them on their way with whatever punishment he’d chosen. Eventually Giuliano and Francesco were the last two waiting out in the hall together, sporting bloody noses and black eyes.

“I have never and would never steal your clothes,” Francesco said. “Your fashion sense is atrocious, and I’m offended you’d even suggest I would wear anything you own.”

Giuliano laughed and punched him on the arm, but playfully so, and Francesco was smiling too. “Thanks, by the way,” Francesco said next. “I could’ve handled it on my own, but thanks.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, I didn’t do it for you. I was just in the mood to knock those dumb smug looks off their faces,” Giuliano said. “What were they saying to you anyway?”

Francesco looked surprised. “You mean you didn’t even hear? I thought you only intervened to defend Lorenzo.”

“Lorenzo? What about him?” Giuliano said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Um…” Francesco looked down at his hands, his cheeks tinged with pink. “They found me eating lunch by myself and started asking where my boyfriend was and saying some homophobic stuff about me and Lorenzo. I-I mean, he’s _not_ my boyfriend _,_ obviously, I don’t even know how they came up with that, like, if you’re going to bully someone it might as well be about something that’s actually true.”

So they were still going to act like Lorenzo and Francesco weren’t embarrassingly smitten with each other, then? Giuliano rolled his eyes, though Francesco was still staring at his hands and didn’t see. “Right,” Giuliano said sarcastically, but the headmaster’s door opened before he could say anything else.

Giuliano and Francesco were both sent home with a three-day suspension, which Lucrezia was livid about when she stopped by the house after lunch to pick up some papers for the bank and asked why they were injured and weren’t at school. “Fighting in school _again?”_ she shouted. “When will you learn your lesson? I’ve just about had it with you two—”

“Hang on, we weren’t fighting each other,” Giuliano protested. “Some assholes were harassing Francesco, and I stepped in to help. We shouldn’t have even been punished, if you ask me, we were the victims.”

“Francesco was the victim,” said Bianca, who was home from her university classes for the day and had already heard a blow-by-blow account of the incident. “You just started punching people ’cause you felt like it.”

“Well, I was also defending the victim,” Giuliano said. “I’m the hero of this story, really.”

Lucrezia looked flabbergasted. “You were _defending_ Francesco?”

“Yeah,” Giuliano said. “No need to sound so surprised.”

To his astonishment, Lucrezia beamed at them and pulled them both in for a hug. “Well, it’s wonderful to see you two getting along,” she said, letting go of them again. Giuliano and Francesco exchanged a bemused look. “Are you all right, Francesco?”

“Fine,” he said. “They were just a bunch of idiots not worth getting upset over.”

Lucrezia gave him a maternal pat on the cheek. “Between us, that headmaster’s always been a spineless fool,” she said. “I’ll be giving him a call to ask why he felt it necessary to punish you for defending yourselves.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Francesco said. “We _did_ start punching them, we kinda deserved the suspensions.”

But Lucrezia was already on her way back to work, waving over her shoulder as she left. “Don’t bother,” Bianca advised Francesco. “She once made Lorenzo’s primary school teacher cry because she ‘didn’t agree with’ the grade she gave his handwriting.”

“So _that’s_ why his handwriting’s still so bad,” Francesco said as they went back to their previous spot in front of the TV.

Giuliano grabbed two videogame controllers and tossed him one. “Since we’re off school for three days, we might as well enjoy ourselves,” he said.

Francesco grinned at him. “Oh, I’m going to kick your ass.”

* * *

Lorenzo’s only visible reaction to the incident was to declare that Francesco would be joining him and his friends for lunch every day from now on and that he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Francesco blushed and smiled and shyly mumbled an agreement, and Giuliano gave Bianca an exasperated look to say _when will they finally put us out of our misery?_ to which she just shook her head helplessly.

* * *

The Christmas holidays passed pleasantly. Guglielmo came up from Rome to spend his break at Palazzo Medici, and Lorenzo could see how happy Francesco was to have his brother around, which made him happy in turn. They had a pretty quiet Christmas this year without any of the parties they usually threw; Lucrezia had given their friends and relatives excuses of her not having the time this year with the bank being especially hectic, but Lorenzo suspected that the real reason was that she didn’t want to overwhelm Francesco by subjecting him to the full force of the Medici social circle quite so soon.

They all exchanged small gifts—Francesco and Guglielmo too—but now that Lorenzo, Bianca, and Giuliano were no longer children, in the Medici family the focus on Christmas was eating a massive meal and enjoying each other’s company, whereas birthdays were the big gift-giving occasions. So on Lorenzo’s birthday, New Year’s Day, he had many more gifts to open.

He’d saved Francesco’s for last, and it was with no small amount of anticipation that he opened it. He gasped as he saw what was inside. “The complete works of Catullus, with both the original Latin and Italian translations,” he said, running his fingers over the leatherbound book, the title embossed in gold. “This is beautiful, Francesco. Where did you even get it?”

“I found it online,” Francesco said. “I know you like the poems of his we have to read in class, God knows why.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Thank you. I love it,” he said, and Francesco smiled back at him, clearly pleased his gift had gone over well.

Later that night once he was alone in his room, Lorenzo picked the book up to examine it more closely. It really was a beautiful book, certainly an upgrade from the paperback student edition they were using in class. There was a little ribbon bookmark attached to the book, and Lorenzo opened it to the pages it was tucked between.

Catullus 9. Lorenzo’s eyes widened. They’d had to read this one for class, and Lorenzo had wasted ten minutes arguing with the teacher about whether it was gay or not. (“He says he’s going to kiss the guy’s eyes!” “Lorenzo, I promise you there are _plenty_ of homoerotic Catullus poems, but this is not one of them. It’s about platonic affection for a friend.” “But in Catullus 48 he talks about kissing Juventius’s eyes, and he even uses the same ‘three hundred thousand’ hyperbole although in a different context, and _that_ poem is definitely romantic because of the similarities to poems 5 and 7, both addressed to Lesbia.” “I still think you’re drawing the wrong conclusions, but I’m so impressed you’ve been reading extra Catullus on your own time that I’ll let you have this one.”)

On the way out of class, Lorenzo had asked Francesco what he thought. “What do I think? I think that this dude has been dead for two thousand years, who gives a shit who he banged?” Francesco had said dismissively, and Lorenzo had laughed despite himself. As much as Francesco’s pragmatism exasperated him sometimes, it was also one of Lorenzo’s favorite things about him.

“Why do _you_ care so much?” Francesco had asked him next. “Besides that you’re a smartass who likes showing off and arguing with teachers just for the fun of it.”

Lorenzo had grinned sheepishly. “Well…I’m bi,” he’d said, his heart pounding a little. He’d never made a secret of that around Francesco, but he’d never explicitly told it to him before either. “And reading this poem, it resonated with a lot of the things I’ve felt about…a guy I like. Maybe the addressee really was just Catullus’s friend, that doesn’t matter to me. But the words themselves feel romantic to me because of my own experiences. So I can’t help but read them in that light. That’s the beauty of poetry, you know? It doesn’t matter what the poet intended because every reader can interpret it in their own way.”

He’d felt Francesco’s eyes on him, but when he’d finally found the courage to look at him again, Francesco had quickly looked away, blushing a little.

Now, Lorenzo reread the words of the poem. _Veranius, my favorite of all three hundred thousand of my friends, have you come home to your household gods and loving brothers and aged mother? You have come. O happy news for me!_ It was exactly how Lorenzo felt these days, seeing Francesco in their house again after all these years, sitting among them like part of the family. A missing piece returned.

He skimmed down to the end. _Drawing your neck close, I will kiss your beloved face and eyes. O however many happy men there are, who is happier and more blessed than I am?_ Fine, maybe men in ancient Rome did show platonic affection differently than men nowadays. But Lorenzo was ninety-nine percent sure Francesco wouldn’t find it platonic if Lorenzo were to kiss his face and eyes. Nor would Lorenzo want him to.

He fiddled with the bookmark, his heart racing. Had Francesco marked this page on purpose? Was he trying to tell him something? Of course, Francesco hadn’t said whether _he_ interpreted the poem as platonic or romantic. Maybe he was just trying to say that Lorenzo was his favorite friend. Which would be no small prize either, of course, but…

Lorenzo gave his head a little shake. This was Francesco, he reminded himself sternly, the most pragmatic, poetry-averse person he’d ever met. He wouldn’t be trying to give Lorenzo coded messages like this. The bookmark had probably just happened to be in this page already when he’d bought it.

* * *

Francesco had put his homework off in favor of the birthday celebrations and could barely focus on it for the rest of the night, too anxious and half expecting Lorenzo to burst into his room at any moment accusing him of having a crush on him. He shouldn’t have bookmarked that stupid poem, could he have _been_ any more obvious?

But Lorenzo never said anything about it, so Francesco figured the painfully obvious hint must have, by some miracle, gone over his head. Either that or he’d picked up on it but was choosing to ignore it because he didn’t return Francesco’s feelings.

* * *

Francesco’s own birthday was a few weeks later, and he woke up that morning with a bubble of hope in his chest that he did his best to squash as he got dressed for school. As a rule, he never let himself get excited for his birthday. There was no point. Jacopo had thought that celebrating birthdays was a frivolous waste of time, and he’d never acknowledged the boys’ birthdays besides tossing a check their way.

Ironic. Most teenagers would kill to get hundred-euro checks for their birthdays, but for all those years, all Francesco had wanted was a heartfelt card. Or even just a _happy birthday._

Guglielmo always gave him a card, of course, and a gift that he’d actually picked out. This was the first year they weren’t living together, so Francesco had been anxiously checking the mail all week in hopes that something might arrive for him from Guglielmo. Nothing yet—he checked again now on his way to the kitchen for breakfast—but he tried to comfort himself with the fact that Guglielmo was notoriously scatterbrained and likely wouldn’t have planned ahead enough to ensure that Francesco’s gift arrived by his actual birthday. He would probably put it in the mail today and Francesco would get it in a few days.

Guglielmo would definitely text him today, though. Francesco checked his phone, but he had no messages. Well, it was early, Guglielmo would still be sleeping if he didn’t have any morning classes.

The Medici were all at the breakfast table already when he joined them. “Good morning, Francesco,” Lucrezia said.

“Morning,” Francesco replied, hoping against hope that a _happy birthday_ might follow this. But she simply handed him the coffeepot, and the rest of breakfast passed in a sleepy silence.

The leaden weight of disappointment was settling in Francesco’s stomach, and he hated himself for it. Why would the Medici have remembered his birthday? He hadn’t told them it was coming up, and there was no way they’d still remember the date from his childhood birthday parties that they’d always attended.

(Lorenzo was the only one Francesco would actually invite, but Guglielmo would get to invite a friend to keep him company and he would always pick Bianca, and Francesco’s parents would always invite Piero and Lucrezia as additional adult supervision, and then they’d bring little Giuliano along too because he’d throw a tantrum if everyone but him got to go. On more than one occasion Giuliano had caused some sort of fuss that made _him_ the center of attention at _Francesco’s_ birthday party, and thus Francesco’s hatred of him had started early.)

(Now, of course, he wished he’d just appreciated having birthday parties at all instead of wasting them being mad over such petty things.)

Lorenzo was chattering away about normal topics in the few minutes before school started. Francesco would’ve thought that he, at least, would’ve remembered when his birthday was. Francesco still remembered _his_ birthday after all these years. But then, it was easy to remember since it was New Year’s Day. There was nothing memorable about January twenty-eighth.

Wouldn’t Guglielmo have mentioned it to Bianca or one of the others, though? _Well, why would he have?_ Francesco asked himself. He’d probably figured the Medici would remember, or maybe he’d assumed that Francesco wouldn’t even want them to know. Francesco _had_ always made a big stink about how much he hated them and had neglected to mention to Guglielmo that now he thought they were maybe okay.

Francesco didn’t have a single friend besides Lorenzo (Lorenzo’s friends were nice enough and had welcomed him into their ranks, but they still felt more like Francesco’s friends-in-law than his own friends), so no one wished him a happy birthday all day. It was exactly the same as every other birthday, but today it hurt because Francesco had stupidly let himself think that things might be different this year. Had stupidly hoped the Medici might give him a gift or even a cake after he’d seen the festivities they’d put on for Lorenzo’s birthday.

But that was Lorenzo. He was their son, their brother. He got a birthday cake and a mountain of presents. Francesco didn’t deserve any of that because he didn’t really belong here. He wasn’t part of the family. They’d gotten him some small Christmas gifts, yes, but only because everyone was getting gifts that day. Francesco wasn’t good enough to merit a whole day just for himself, and why should he even care anyway? Birthdays were stupid, and he was ridiculous for sulking so much about it.

By the time Francesco had gotten home from school, finished his homework, and was helping Lucrezia get dinner ready, Guglielmo _still_ hadn’t texted him a word. That hurt more than anything else. Not only did the Medici forget his birthday, but his own brother was too busy with his new life down in Rome to remember either.

Francesco was tossing the salad and feeling sorry for himself when Lucrezia said, “Oh, I forgot to buy a loaf of bread on the way home from work. Francesco, would you mind running to the bakery for some?”

“Okay,” Francesco said. Not like he had anything better to do on his birthday. Lucrezia gave him some money from her wallet and he went on his way.

It was cold outside, but the bakery was only a few blocks away, so Francesco walked. It was crowded with people stopping in after work and he had to wait a while, but he was arriving back home with the bread within half an hour.

Which was why he was startled to step inside and see that all the lights were off and there was no one in sight. Where was everyone? Dinner should’ve been ready by now, they should’ve been gathering at the table to eat. Had someone had some kind of medical emergency and they’d all gone to the hospital? Had Lucrezia sent Francesco on a fool’s errand so they could sneak out of the house and have a fun dinner out without him?

No, he definitely did smell something cooking. Maybe the power went out and they were eating in the dark? Francesco cautiously made his way into the dining room.

Suddenly, the lights flicked on. “Surprise!”

Francesco jumped about a mile and clutched the loaf of bread to his chest. The Medici were all standing around the table, beaming at him, and so was—

“Guglielmo!” Francesco exclaimed, and he shot across the room and into his brother’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

Guglielmo laughed and patted him on the back. “I couldn’t miss your birthday,” he said.

So he _had_ remembered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Francesco let go of him and turned to take in the scene. Dinner was all laid out on the table, the far end of which was covered with presents. “Happy birthday, Francesco!” several people were saying at once.

They’d _all_ remembered. Francesco looked from the smiling Medici to the veritable feast on the table and the stack of presents. Just as many presents as Lorenzo had gotten. Maybe _more._ “Are—are those all for me?” he said, stunned.

“Who else would they be for, idiot?” Giuliano said.

“I thought—” Francesco swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I thought you didn’t know, I never said anything…”

“Of course we knew,” Lorenzo said. “You’ve been my best friend since age two, you think I don’t know when your birthday is?”

 _You have been._ Not _you used to be my best friend. You have been._ Like their friendship had never been interrupted.

“I’m sorry we didn’t say anything all day, I can see why you thought we forgot,” Bianca said. “But Mom banned us from saying the word ‘birthday’ today because she knew someone would crack and give away the surprise the second the subject came up.”

“And I wanted to wait until I could wish you happy birthday in person,” Guglielmo added.

Francesco gazed around the table again, trying to process everything that was happening. That was when he saw it. The cake. It was simple, but clearly homemade, adorned with presumably seventeen candles and _Happy birthday Francesco_ written in somewhat uneven letters.

They’d made that. For him. They’d baked and decorated a whole cake, just for him. Guglielmo would always sneak him a cannolo from the bakery near Palazzo Pazzi, but he wouldn’t have been able to make him a cake without Jacopo noticing and taking issue with it. This was Francesco’s first birthday cake since his parents had died.

He couldn’t help it. Tears started trickling down his cheeks. Lucrezia touched his arm. “Francesco?” she said, soft and concerned.

“I’m sorry.” Francesco sniffled and wiped his eyes with his free hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Without a word, Lucrezia pulled him into a hug. Somewhat of an awkward hug given that Francesco was still holding the damn bread like it was his firstborn child, but he nestled gratefully into her arms nevertheless. He couldn’t suppress a few quiet sobs, which was embarrassing, but Lucrezia hugged him tighter and kissed the top of his head as he took deep breaths and tried to get ahold of himself.

“Guglielmo tells us it’s been a very long time since either of you got the kind of birthday celebration you deserve,” she said. “Well, no more of that. You’re part of our family now, both of you, and you’ll be getting the full Medici birthday treatment every year from now on.”

Francesco let out a watery laugh. “Is that a threat?”

Everyone else laughed too. Lucrezia gave him another kiss and let go of him. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “Now come, sit down, the food’s getting cold. And thank you for the bread, although it was mostly a ruse to get you out of the house so we could set everything up.”

Francesco sat down in his usual chair (and wasn’t that something, the fact that he had a usual chair?) and was forbidden from lifting a finger as Lucrezia filled his wineglass and piled food on his plate. Talk and laughter flowed as Francesco ate until he thought he would burst, although he still managed to find room for cake. Chocolate with chocolate frosting, his favorite. Either it was a lucky guess, or Lorenzo had remembered it from all his childhood birthday parties.

They told him to make a wish before he blew out the candles, but he didn’t, because he truly couldn’t think of anything to wish for. He already had everything he wanted, everything he’d never thought he’d get to have.

(Maybe, maybe he might like for Lorenzo to kiss him. But he’d already been given so much, wishing for that seemed like pushing his luck too far.)

Francesco didn’t say much during the meal, mostly leaving the conversation to the others, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. The last time he’d felt so loved and important.

After they’d finished eating and cleared the table (Francesco wasn’t allowed to help), it was time for presents. “Mine’s upstairs,” Lorenzo said. “I wanted to give it to you later, if that’s okay?”

Francesco nodded, intrigued as to why Lorenzo didn’t want him to open it now, but he couldn’t dwell on it much because he was promptly bombarded with everyone else’s gifts. Guglielmo, Bianca, and Giuliano had each gotten him something, and the rest were from Lucrezia. A jumbled assortment of clothes, books, electronics, and videogames, among other things, that kind of felt like she was throwing everything against the wall to see what would stick, but Francesco was so grateful to receive any gifts at all that he cherished every single thing, even the articles of clothing that totally weren’t his style.

They spent the rest of the evening in the living room chatting with the TV on in the background, and Francesco stayed rather than scurrying up to his room like he usually would after dinner. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, high on attention and affection. Was this how people who weren’t fucked up felt all the time? He’d have to ask his therapist at his next appointment.

She always told him that he deserved love and happiness just as much as anyone else did. Right now, Francesco finally believed her.

Lucrezia excused herself for bed around ten and told them not to stay up too late. “We’re tired too,” Bianca said, getting to her feet and tugging Guglielmo up with her; it was a Friday, so he was staying for the weekend. “Aren’t we, Giuliano?”

“Huh?” Giuliano said, still sprawled on the couch.

Bianca gave him a meaningful look. “Aren’t you, Guglielmo, and me exhausted?”

Giuliano looked from her to Lorenzo and Francesco sitting together on a different couch, and then he quickly sat up. “Oh yeah. So exhausted,” he said with an exaggerated, fake-looking yawn. “We’d better head to bed too. But you two should stay up if you want.”

The three of them left, wishing Francesco one last happy birthday as they went. “That was weird,” Francesco said. “I’ve never seen Giuliano go to bed before one AM.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Lorenzo said, sounding distracted.

Francesco turned to him and saw that he looked nervous. “You okay?”

“Me? Totally fine,” Lorenzo said. “Hey, is it all right if I give you my present now?”

“Sure,” Francesco said, his heart skipping a beat as he again wondered what sort of present Lorenzo wouldn’t want to give him in front of the rest of the family.

Lorenzo left the room, then came back with a card and a small, square package. He handed the gift over first, which Francesco unwrapped to reveal a jewelry box. He opened it, and his eyes widened as he saw the ring inside. A gold band with a square piece of onyx set into it, and quite possibly the most beautiful thing Francesco had ever owned.

“Lorenzo, this must’ve cost a fortune,” he said, carefully taking it out for a closer look. Obviously money was no object to Lorenzo, but still, just the thought that he would willingly spend so much on Francesco…

Lorenzo shrugged. “I wanted to get you something nice,” he said, sounding almost shy. “And I’ve seen you wear rings before, so I thought maybe you might like one…”

Francesco finally managed to tear his eyes off the ring to smile at Lorenzo. “I love it,” he said. “Thank you.” He immediately slid it onto the first finger of his right hand, which made Lorenzo’s own smile widen.

“Um, and this is for you too,” Lorenzo said. He held out the card, and Francesco saw that his hand was trembling a little.

Francesco opened the card, expecting some long, wordy message, but to his surprise it was only a few short lines.

_Your honey-sweet eyes, Juventius,  
If someone should let me kiss all the time,  
I would kiss them three hundred thousand times  
Nor would I ever seem to be satisfied,  
Not even if the harvest of our kisses  
Was thicker than dry ears of corn._

_– Catullus 48_

Francesco reread it several times, his heart in his throat. Was Lorenzo…flirting with him? There was no way he could return Francesco’s feelings. But there was also no way Francesco could manage to interpret this birthday card in a platonic way no matter how many mental gymnastics he tried to pull, especially seeing as Lorenzo had waited to give it to him privately.

“I know you hate poetry and Catullus, so I wasn’t sure if you’d like this,” Lorenzo was rambling. “But it was the poem I was referencing in class that day I was arguing about Catullus 9, remember? So I thought maybe you might be interested to read this one since it wasn’t assigned for class and—”

“Lorenzo,” Francesco said.

Lorenzo stuttered to a halt. “Yes?”

Francesco realized he didn’t actually know what to say. He looked back down at the ring, then the poem. He wasn’t like Lorenzo. He didn’t have an endless supply of poems stored in his brain, ready to quote at a moment’s notice to express his feelings. Most of the time he couldn’t come up with his own words either. So right now, he didn’t even try.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed him.

Lorenzo hummed happily and kissed him back right away, before he even had time to worry he’d made a mistake. Francesco had never kissed anyone before, but Lorenzo seemed to know what he was doing, so Francesco just closed his eyes and let him take charge, savoring the feeling of his lips against his. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might either throw up or go into cardiac arrest, but the utter joy rushing through every inch of him more than made up for that.

Just as Francesco was trying to figure out how to breathe and kiss at the same time, Lorenzo pulled back ever so slightly, bumping his nose against Francesco’s and smiling at him. “So I’m guessing you like me back?” he said.

“Um.” Francesco took a moment to remember how to form words. “Yeah,” he said. “Wait, _you_ like _me?”_

Lorenzo laughed. “I just gave you jewelry and a love poem and kissed you, so yeah, I like you.”

Francesco started to smile too, some of his shock finally wearing off as it sunk in that this was real, this was actually happening. “Was it okay?” he asked.

“Was what okay?”

“The kiss. It was my first,” Francesco said, then blushed and regretted admitting to that.

But Lorenzo just beamed at him even more brightly. “It was?” he said, sounding thrilled. “I’m so glad I’m the one you wanted to share it with.”

“Ugh, you’re _such_ a sap, it’s disgusting,” Francesco said, but he was still smiling. His face muscles were kind of starting to hurt.

“But you like me anyway,” Lorenzo said smugly. “Anyway, it was way more than okay. It was perfect. Was it okay for you?”

“Yes,” Francesco said. “Perfect.”

“Good.” Lorenzo’s smile turned into a smirk. “But maybe we should give it another shot, just in case.”

Francesco laughed, and Lorenzo kissed him again. Francesco reciprocated more confidently this time, trying to mimic what Lorenzo was doing and to follow some of his own instincts. They spent a while kissing on the couch before Lorenzo drew back and pulled Francesco into his side instead. He wrapped his arms around him, and Francesco happily snuggled against him, feeling warm and safe and content.

Then as Francesco closed his eyes, Lorenzo pressed a tender kiss to each eyelid, and Francesco had to admit that maybe Catullus was onto something with this whole eye-kissing thing.

“I had a big romantic speech prepared declaring my feelings for you, but I’ve forgotten it,” Lorenzo said. “You probably would’ve kicked my ass if I’d tried to say that shit to you anyway.”

“Probably,” Francesco agreed, grinning.

“So I’ll just cut to the chase.” Lorenzo bit his lip, then said hopefully, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Francesco smiled the widest he had all night, which was saying something. “Okay,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Speaking as a classics degree-holder myself, I do actually think Catullus 9 is platonic and not romantic (plus my Latin prof said so when someone in my class asked if it was romantic, and he was a gay man himself so I trust him not to have been up to any queer erasure lmao) but Lorenzo is absolutely the type of person who sees romance everywhere. And sees gay everywhere. And insists on arguing with his teachers every 5 minutes.
> 
> Translations of both poems are mostly mine, but I used these ones as guidance:  
> Catullus 9: http://rudy.negenborn.net/catullus/text2/e9.htm and https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Translation:Catullus_9  
> Catullus 48: https://www.ancient-literature.com/catullus-48-translation.html and https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Translation:Catullus_48


End file.
